Tener
un diez en cada destreza de un idioma y seguir mejorando, aprendiendo
y esforzándose no tiene parangón.
He
sido y sigo siendo testigo de innumerables hazañas de mis alumnos,
que siempre recuerdo con una sonrisa de agradecimiento por todo lo me
han enseñado y enseñan.
En
una ocasión presenté a mis alumnos de 3º ESO a una antigua alumna,
venía a hacer sus prácticas del Máster del Profesorado, como una
buenísima estudiante. Ella me interrumpió para aclarar que se
consideraba mediocre por haber conseguido un "bien".
Continué mi presentación reiterando mi opinión "buenísima
alumna con un magnífico bien", y es que "el
que hace lo que puede no está obligado a más".
Años más tarde, superó a su profesora, se doctoró con honores.
Buenísima con un bien y buenísima cuando se doctoró con honores.
No es la nota; son las ganas, el esfuerzo, la entrega y la pasión por
lo que uno hace lo que marca la diferencia.
Así
podría escribir páginas y páginas de recuerdos de mis queridos
alumnos. Sin embargo, ahora, me voy a limitar a lo acontecido hace un
par de semanas, cuando, trabajando en una actividad propuesta por el
Instituto Británico, grandísimo referente siempre en la enseñanza
de la lengua inglesa, me volvieron a sacar más de una sonrisa. La
actividad consiste en trabajar la narración partiendo de diez
preguntas sobre uno de los cuentos de García Márquez: Un
señor muy viejo con alas enormes.
Mis alumnos trabajaron por parejas respondiendo a esas diez
preguntas. Posteriormente, individualmente tenían que dejar volar su
creatividad y, ante las mismas respuestas, poner sobre el papel su
propia narración.
El
resultado fue impresionante, disfruté con la lectura de cada una de
ellas. Las que comparto con vosotros son de alumnos
del primer curso del Ciclo Superior de Laboratorio Clínico y
Biomédico. He
elegido el relato de Andrea Álvarez por su excelente calidad
literaria, y los de Jesús Santamaría y Andrea Moreno por su
fascinante creatividad; Jesús lo ha narrado en prosa y Andrea, en
verso. Mismas respuestas, distintas versiones, excelentes resultados.
No
hay sitio para más, pero doy fe de haber corregido maravillas, con
garantías de haber utilizado su inteligencia natural.
Son
extraordinarios, siempre dan lo mejor.
PAUL´S
MYSTERIOUS GUEST por Andrea Álvarez Muñoz
For
the past fourteen days, Paul had been watching the rain fall
relentlessly outside his window.
Every
morning, he would sit in his chair, gazing at the dreary unchanging
landscape. The sky remained an endless canvas of gray, and the
rhythmic sound of raindrops hitting the glass was the only thing
breaking the silence. He had always been a man of good faith,
believing that everything in life had a purpose, even when things
seemed uncertain.
Unable
to move around much, Paul found solace in a new hobby: cooking.
However, as he couldn´t stand for long periods, he resorted to a
cooking simulator game on his Ipad. As he meticulously followed
virtual recipes, flipping pancakes and garnishing dishes with
pixelated herbs, something peculiar happened. Out of the corner of
his eye, he spotted a man standing outside motionless in the rain.
His heart skipped a beat. The figure seemed nearly ethereal, as
though he didn´t belong to this world. A chill ran down Paul´s
spine.
Startled,
he turned to his wife, “ I think I have just seen a man outside…
but he looked as if he didn´t belong here, almost as if he came from
another realm”.
His
wife scoffed, crossing her arms, “Paul, you´ve been staring out of
that window for too long. You need to see a doctor. You´re starting
to sound delirious”.
Despite
her dismissive sound, the unease in Paul’s chest did not subside.
Meanwhile an eerie event had shaken the town. Word spread that an
87-year-old man had passed away under tragic and unsettling
circumstances. Strangely, despite reports of his death, his body had
not been found. Grief-stricken and confused, the townspeople flocked
to the small village church, hoping to find solace in prayers. The
priests, utterly baffled by the sudden influx of worshippers,
exchanged worrying glances. In all their years of service, they had
never seen so many people attend mass at once. The atmosphere was
thick with unease, as if something far greater was at play.
Unbeknowst
to everyone, Paul was harbouring a secret.
Hidden
beneath his house in the dimly lit basement filled with neatly
arranged beds, lay the very man the town mourned. Paul had found him
wandering aimlessly in the rain, frail and lost. Moved by compassion,
he had taken him in, ensuring he had a warm place to rest. Despite
the circumstances, Paul, did not see the old man as a mystery to be
solved or a problem to be fixed. He simply wanted him to be
comfortable.
One
fateful evening, as Paul and his wife sat watching the news, the
screen flickered with an urgent broadcast: “Authorities are still
searching for the elderly man who was reported dead but whose body
remains missing. His entire family has mysteriously disappeared, and
a five-thousand-dollar reward is being offered to anyone who provides
information on his whereabouts”.
Paul
froze. The description matched the man he had been sheltering. A wave
of doubt washed over him. Could it be the same person? And if so, why
had he come to Paul? Yet, he brushed aside his questions. The money
did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that the man was
safe..
Determined
to speak to him, Paul descended into the basement, carefully carrying
a tray of warm food. The old man sat on one of the beds, his tired
eyes filled with unfathomable depth of sorrow.
“You
can stay here as long as you need”, Paul assured him, placing the
meal before him.
The
man gave a weak nod but said nothing.
Days
passed. The rain never stopped. Paul never left the basement. His
wife assumed he was resting, perhaps lost in his thoughts. But when
she went to check on him, she found him motionless, his shallow
breathing. Panic surged through her as she called for an ambulance.
Two
days later, Paul awoke in a stark white hospital room. The rhythmic
beeping of machines surrounded him, and for a brief moment, he felt
disoriented. But then, his thoughts drifted back to the old man. Had
he eaten? Was he still in the basement?
His
heart pounded as he scanned the room.
But
the man was gone.
Not
just from the basement.
From
his life.
Forever.
THE
OLD MAN WITH WINGS por Jesús Santamaría García
For
fifteen long days, the rain had not stopped in the small village
where Paul lived. Every morning, upon waking up, he would look at the
grey sky and hear the incessant drumming of water against the
windows. The humidity seeped into the walls of his house, and the
atmosphere became heavier each day. One afternoon, while practising a
sung poem at home, something unusual caught his attention. He looked
out the window and saw a strange figure standing in the rain: an old
man, hunched over and soaked, with enormous battered wings. Paul was
stunned. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A man with wings?
His surprise was so great that he dropped the book he was holding.
When he told his wife what he had seen, she crossed her arms and gave
him a skeptical look. "Are you high?",
she
asked, not believing his words. Paul insisted that it wasn’t a
hallucination and convinced her to go and see the strange being.
When the villagers heard the news, they rushed in mass to see the
mysterious winged man. Some fell to their knees and began to pray,
convinced that he was Saint Peter and that the end of the world was
near. Others simply watched in astonishment, unsure how to react.
However, the village priest, who had had too much to drink that
night, dismissed the idea that he was an angel. "It’s probably
just an illusion caused by the alcohol",
he muttered before returning back to his church.
Paul,
seeing an opportunity, decided to hide the old man in his bathroom
shower. At first, he didn’t know what to do with the old man, but
when people started offering money just to see him, an idea came to
mind: charging £50
per visit. For days, the line of curious visitors grew, all eager to
get a look at the mysterious winged man. However, over time, the
excitement faded, and the visits became less frequent.
Finally,
one morning, the winged old man managed to escape. Paul was in his
garden, tending to his plants, when he heard the sound of wings
fluttering. Looking up, he saw the strange being take flight and
disappear into the sky. He stood motionless, unsure whether
everything had been real or just a bizarre story he would one day
tell with laughter and doubt.
THE
OLD MAN WITH WINGS por
Andrea Moreno Gómez
For
fifteen days, the rain poured down,
Flooding
fields and drenching town.
Paul
stayed home, without a plan,
Practising
songs like a singing man.
One
strange day, in all that rain,
A
man with wings; was Paul insane?
Of
course he thought, this must be real!
But
his wife laughed just with zeal.
“Are
you high?” was all she said,
Then
she turned and shook her head.
The
people saw it and screamed with fright,
“Saint
Peter is here! We´ll die tonight”.
The
priest just laughed, too drunk to care,
“You´re
seeing things that aren´t there!”
Paul
and his wife, both sly and keen,
Kept
the man where none had seen.
Inside
their shower, locked away,
And
charged to see him every day.
Fifty
pounds just for a look,
Soon
their pockets´weight had shook.
The
old man stayed, no wings to fly,
Until
one day, he reached the sky,
He
flapped and scared escaped at last,
Leaving
Paul just staring aghast.
Paul,
that day, was in the yard,
Gardening
there, working hard.
He
looked above, the sky was clear,
The
man was gone, no more was near.
And
so, my friend, this tale is true,
Believe
it or not, it´s up to you.
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